Broken Process

by Bethany Jadin

  Jude’s laugh comes out as a snort. “It’s absolute shit.”

  Trigg spears another bite and shoves it in. “The worst,” he says, chewing quickly.

  My eyes go wide. “Then why are you gobbling it down?”

  The guys shrug in unison, and Jude says, “We’re used to it. Daniel’s been making this for us for years. I don’t even remember how it started.”

  Trigg points his fork in the air. “At Momma Kent’s.”

  Jude leans back in his chair. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. The breakfast the morning after we moved her into the new house.”

  Trigg leans forward, talking in low tones. “We’d all crashed in the living room the night before, and the next morning we wake up to Daniel in the new kitchen, just a hell of a mess everywhere. He says he’s making French toast, and we’re like, ‘Hell yeah, we’re starving, let’s eat!’ But Momma Kent pulls us aside—”

  Jude chuckles and leans toward me “—and she tells us the story of how when he was little, he wanted to do something nice for her on Mother’s Day, so eight-year-old Daniel got up early in the morning and made her French toast from scratch.”

  I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, that’s so sweet! I can just picture him as a little boy, standing on a stool in his pajamas, covered in powdered sugar and cinnamon.”

  Trigg picks up the story. “Momma Kent said God knows what recipe he went by, or if he just winged it, but it was horrible. But, of course, she ate it with a smile, and he was just tickled pink.”

  “So, from then on,” Jude continues, “he made it for breakfast whenever there was a special occasion. She could never bring herself to tell him it was awful. Then she let us in on the secret, and we’re carrying on the tradition.”

  “I know you haven’t met her,” Trigg says, “but Momma Kent is sweeter than spun sugar. She’d give you her last penny and the bite of food from her mouth if you needed it. None of us would dare upset Momma Kent. So, we eat the damn French toast and keep our mouths shut.”

  I swallow hard, getting misty-eyed as it all sinks in. These guys are just amazing. If I wasn’t falling hard for all of them already, this would have stolen my heart for sure. A realization dawns on me.

  “Wait, Daniel made French toast, so that means…”

  Trigg reaches for my hand, twining his fingers through mine. “Having you back here with us… it’s definitely a special occasion.”

  I squeeze Trigg’s hand and swallow again, feeling my face turn pink at the effort to hold back a rush of emotions. I glance at Jude.

  He nods solemnly and opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes dart to Trigg warily, and he hesitates.

  “Ah, man, just tell her,” Trigg says. “Pretend I’m not here if you have to.”

  Jude draws in a breath and then quietly says, “I slept better last night with you in my arms than I have in weeks.”

  “You guys… I don’t know what to say,” I manage to choke out, and it’s the truth. I’m overwhelmed by how full my heart is right now, just swelling to the point of bursting with feelings. “I’m really glad to be here, too. With all of you.”

  I look down at my plate as I blink back tears. Come hell or high water, there’s no way I’m not finishing every last bite.

  Trigg releases my hand and moves to take my plate away. “You don’t have to eat that — Jude and I will finish it for you.”

  I block him with my forearm. “No, you don’t. How am I supposed to get used to it if I don’t eat it?”

  Trigg bumps my leg under the table, and both he and Jude are sharing that secret smile with me now. I definitely don’t feel like I’m being played anymore. I’m in on it.

  “You know, it’s not that bad,” Jude says, digging back into his second serving. “I’ve definitely had worse. I’d eat this any day over some of the stuff I had to chew on out in the field.”

  Trigg digs in as well, stuffing in a big mouthful and smiling at me. “You get used to it. It’s kinda nostalgic.”

  I pick up my fork and cut another piece. It’s definitely going to be an acquired taste, but the sweetness of the story behind it makes it palatable. I smile at the guys as I take a tentative bite and chew, feeling like I’ve been initiated into their private circle.

  A chime sounds over the intercom, the alarm that signals if someone in the elevator has punched in this penthouse as their destination. Daniel sticks his head out of the kitchen, and Jude turns to him with his fork in the air. “Better get on top of it in there — that’ll be Jax and Gunner, and I bet they’re hungry.”

  Daniel nods and ducks back into the kitchen.

  The door to Daniel’s entryway opens, and Gunner hollers, “Is Emma cooking? I smell food.”

  “It’s Daniel,” Jude says, flashing the guys a wicked grin as they enter the dining room. “He’s making French toast.”

  “Ah, hell,” Jax says, almost coming to a halt before continuing into the room.

  Gunner rubs his belly and shrugs. “I don’t even care. At this point, I’d eat the tablecloth, I’m so hungry.”

  “Emma’s in on the fun now, too,” Trigg informs them.

  Jax shakes his head. “Sorry, Emma.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Truth be told, I’d rather sit here and eat Daniel’s terrible French toast than be anywhere else right now, even if there was a world-class chef preparing breakfast next door.

  “Well, since you’re suffering along with the rest of us,” Jax says, pulling out a chair beside his brother, “could you pour me some juice? I’m gonna need it.”

  He and Gunner take a seat at the table, and I reach forward to pour them some of the fresh juice from the carafe, passing the full glasses to Trigg and Jude to hand down the table.

  “Hey, where’s Zoey?” I ask, nodding at the empty seat.

  “She insisted we stop fussing over her and get our tails up here for breakfast,” Gunner says.

  “Said she wanted to take a shower and have a quiet morning,” Jax adds. He must see the alarm in my eyes, because he continues, “But she’s in good hands. The new security team’s been in place as of six this morning.”

  Jude nods. “You will both be able to come and go freely now without worrying.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say, already feeling the anxiety rising into my throat, threatening to choke me.

  Jude turns to me. “These guys are good — the best. And they won’t interfere with your activities. They’re extremely discreet but very effective. You’ll have to look very hard to even notice anyone watching.”

  “I’ll put a bottle of Suntory Yamazaki whiskey on it,” Gunner says. He points at me and looks at Jude. “I think she’ll be able to identify one of them within twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll take that bet,” Jude says, then he quickly looks at me. “Not that I don’t think you’re capable — it’s just that these guys are that good.”

  “We’ll see,” I tease, feeling some of the tension leave my body. If Jude trusts them, then they must be at the top of the game. I push away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’m gonna give Zoey a quick call, just to check in.”

  “Of course,” Trigg says, reaching a hand over to help me scoot my chair out. “But I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “I’m sure, too,” I say confidently. “I just want to hear her voice.”

  I slip into the next room — Daniel’s study — so I can talk with Zoey in private, and I’m reminded of how elegant everything is in Daniel’s penthouse. It puts me to mind of the gentlemen’s lounges from another era. Dark walnut paneling, easy chairs upholstered in rich leather, rows and rows of books arranged neatly on the shelves, and a built-in cigar humidor in the corner.

  A flash of violet catches my eye, and I walk over to the shelf on the far wall. Oh my God. It’s me and the guys from the night of the Gala, my wine-colored evening gown standing in sharp contrast to their five black tuxedos. After dinner, a photographer had asked to take Daniel’s picture — he was t
he keynote speaker, after all — and he’d insisted that I and the other guys join him for the photo.

  I remember feeling so awkward standing there, with Daniel on one side and Jude on the other, surrounded by these titans of industry, wondering why on earth I was in the picture, much less in the room.

  It’s like Daniel knew somehow… even back then, the very first night all of us were together.

  This isn’t real. It must be a dream. Any minute, I’m going to wake up and be back in the little apartment with Zoey on Keswick Street, still working at the hospital and hoping one day something great will finally happen in my life.

  As I stare at the picture, a little voice whispers inside me. A voice I’ve been afraid to listen to. But standing here now, alone in Daniel’s study, with the life-altering shift that my world has taken summed up with a simple picture from a night long ago, I let the voice speak. Something amazing is happening. Something greater than I could have ever hoped for.

  My heart beats erratically as I call Zoey’s number.

  She skips the greeting. “So, someone didn’t come back downstairs last night.”

  “Hey, I texted you,” I remind her. “I just wanted to call and make sure everything’s okay. Jax said you wanted some time alone.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I ran the guys out of here because they were trying to wait on me hand and foot — super sweet, but we’ve all been in such a small space for so long, today I just want to be able to walk two feet without bumping into someone.”

  “I understand. That’s what I figured, I just wanted to double-check.”

  “So, tell me, woman, what steamy tales do you have to share with me about last night?”

  I spin back to the center of Daniel’s den, admiring his art collection on the walls. “Actually, nothing happened. Not like that, at least,” I say quickly, thinking back to how I fell asleep in Jude’s arms, my head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling me into the deepest sleep I can remember.

  “You’re not holding out on me, are you?” she asks, sounding a little disappointed.

  “No, I promise. You know I’d tell you. But…”

  “What?” she asks. “Uh-oh. Did something bad happen?”

  I gravitate toward a large, built-in bookshelf, needing something solid to lean against, an anchor. “No, I just… I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, I guess.”

  “About the apartment? All our stuff? It fucking sucks, I know.”

  “Yeah, it does,” I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I don’t even know where to start with that. Like, I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “It’ll be okay. There’s nothing there that can’t be replaced. But I get the sense that’s not what’s really weighing on your mind.”

  I smile into the phone. Zoey knows me so well. I run my hands along the edges of the bookshelf, pacing as I approach the subject that’s been spinning in my head for days. “It’s that, uh, things have changed, somehow, with the guys.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before replying, and her voice is softer when she does. “I could kind of tell the last couple days. Something’s different between you all.”

  “You know, there’s some part of me that’s been saying all along this isn’t real. That it just doesn’t happen. And I don’t know whether I really believed that, or if it was just what felt safer to think was true, but I’ve just been humming along with that stuck in my back pocket as kind of like a short-term ticket, you know? Like my time will run out and the fun will stop, and I’ll need to disembark from the boat.” I let out a laugh. “Does any of that make sense? I’m pretty sure I sound crazy right now.”

  “It makes total sense. Since it’s such a far-fetched thing, you’ve not let yourself think about where the boat might be headed. And it sounds like it’s not a short pleasure cruise after all, am I right?”

  “Yes, exactly. This is more than I ever expected. More than I’m prepared for. Than any of us may be.”

  “Is that what’s worrying you?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly, searching for how to describe the turmoil inside me, the fear of seeing any of the guys hurt or angry with each other over me. “I don’t know how all this is supposed to work. A woman can’t have a relationship with five guys at the same time.”

  “Well, it’s not… usual,” Zoey says slowly.

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “But, who says it’s not possible?” she continues. “Just because our parents only had one partner and our friends are serial monogamists, it doesn’t mean you have to conform to that. Maybe it’s not common because few people ever get the opportunity. What do the guys say about it? Have you talked to them?”

  “A little. They seem okay with it, but I don’t know. How can there not be jealousy?”

  My eyes move back to the picture of all of us at the Gala. The guys look so damn happy. And so do I, grinning from ear to ear, my arm linked with Daniel’s, so honored to be included in the picture even though I couldn’t understand why he’d wanted me in it.

  “Even when there’s only one guy, there’s jealousy,” Zoey says. “Jackass didn’t even want to take you out to bars because he didn’t like guys checking you out.”

  “That’s my point. It’s going to happen sooner or later. What if I start falling for one guy more than the others? What if one of them changes his mind and wants me to pick? It’ll tear the group apart. It’ll tear their business apart.”

  “I know how nervous you are. And you know, honestly, I’ve wondered the same things as I’ve seen this spark develop between you all. But, here’s the thing that I keep coming back to,” Zoey says, her voice confident. “I’ve watched you guys together. The six of you, it’s something special. So, I say, don’t sabotage it before it has a chance.”

  My eyes drift over Daniel’s collection of hardbacks, all nonfiction tomes, looking for something to distract me from uncomfortable thoughts of future realities. “Okay, yeah, but what about going forward? What’ll it look like when I’m on the arm of one guy after another? My parents are going to flip their shit.”

  “Mmm… you know, your mom still has that inner hippie free-love vibe that we’ve heard so many stories about from her wild days in college. Somehow, I think she’ll understand. And your dad…” Zoey pauses and takes a deep breath. “He’s more conservative. But he loves you so much. I think as long as you’re happy, he’ll accept it, eventually.”

  “One can dream, I guess,” I say, tracing a finger along the edge of the bookshelf. My finger brushes against a little sliver of paper sticking out of a book laying on its side. I absentmindedly pull it off the shelf.

  “Listen, I know you didn’t call me so I could lecture you—”

  “Ha! Maybe I need one,” I tell her as I turn the book over to look at the cover. It’s an old book, cloth bound. A translation of poems by Kahlil Gibran. Love poems, by the look of them.

  “—and this may be my version of ‘life is short’ because of what’s happened recently, but stop worrying about other people’s judgement. You’ll never be happy if you’re trying to fit into what everyone else expects of you.”

  “Jesus, Zoey,” I say, tempted to bolt down to Gunner and Trigg’s place so I can throw my arms around her. “You always say what I need to hear, even if it’s not what I expected. And you’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just really scared of fucking this all up. I’m scared someone’s going to get hurt.”

  I flip forward to the spot bookmarked by the paper and close my fingers around it, a torn scrap of business stationary, the company motif of Pentabyte watermarked on the linen. I remove it, careful to keep a finger tucked into the book so I don’t lose the place.

  “I know,” she says. “But you guys will figure this out.”

  “Listen, I’ll be down later, okay?” I tell her. “I’ll let you go so you can enjoy your people-free morning. I’ll make sure the guys don’t bother you for a few hours. So, get naked and run through the penthouse dancing if you want to.” />
  “I’ve thought about it,” she says with a laugh. “See you soon.”

  “See you soon,” I echo.

  I end the call and lay my phone on the shelf, turning my attention to the piece of paper. I unfold it carefully and read the words written in Daniel’s handwriting.

  think not you can direct the course of love,

  for love, if it finds you worthy,

  directs your course

  I run the tips of my fingers over the black swoops and dashing of his elegant penmanship, the words echoing through me like a sign from heaven.

  “Emma?”

  I jump at the sound of Daniel’s voice, even though he called my name softly. I stuff the paper back in the book and lay it on the shelf before turning around.

  18

  Daniel

  Emma startles as I enter.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” I explain. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, and that Zoey’s okay, too, because you were gone a while. And then I heard your voice and you seemed a little… distraught.”

  She bites down on her bottom lip as she stares at me. “How much did you hear?”

  I close the door behind me and move closer to her.

  “Only a few words here and there. But, I must confess, I did hear you say something would tear this group apart. You were talking about you, weren’t you? Is that what you think?”

  Emma’s eyes move around my study, avoiding my gaze. “Maybe. Yes. I don’t know.” She lets out a big breath and turns her hands up. “Daniel, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all of this.”

  Her eyes are watering as she looks at me. “You mean, what’s happening between you and I… and the other guys?” I ask her gently.

  She gives me a small nod, her gaze unsure.

  “If you’re wondering whether I’m aware, the answer is yes. It’s impossible not to have observed that my feelings for you are shared by all of us. And I’d like to think — I dare to hope, actually — that you’re equally taken by us as we are with you.”

  Emma draws a breath and straightens. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I am. But it’s… it’s so…”